America when will you be angelic? When will you take off your clothes? When will you look at yourself through the grave? When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites? America why are your libraries full of tears?
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"I don't feel good don't bother me. I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind."
"This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping—page beyond Psalm—Last change of mine and Naomi—to God's perfect…"
"I'm a lover, but I'm not a fighter."
"I'm not a mystic. I'm a realist."
"None of us understand what we're doing, but we do beautiful things anyway."
American Beat poet whose Howl (1956) faced an obscenity trial and became a counterculture manifesto. Closely associated with Jack Kerouac (Beat novelist, On the Road) and William S. Burroughs (fellow Beat, Naked Lunch). For an intellectual contrast, see T.S. Eliot, high-modernist poet of The Waste Land — Ginsberg's open-line confessional Beat verse was a deliberate rejection of Eliot's allusive academic formalism — the two halves of mid-century American poetry.
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